


One Good Turn

by Minuial_Nuwing



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Implied Twincest, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slashy Santa Swap 2005, Third Age, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuial_Nuwing/pseuds/Minuial_Nuwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elladan and Elrohir are ambushed at the edge of Mirkwood, and Legolas saves the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Good Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lef in the Slashy Santa Exchange 2005
> 
> Request: _Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas; Action/adventure with wild sex afterwards_
> 
> Warning: Shameless PWP, mildly graphic battle violence, twincest relationship, consensual rough sex
> 
> Beta: the incredible Fimbrethiel
> 
> ****************************************************************************

The attack had taken them by surprise. So close to the eaves of the great forest, their thoughts had been focused more on fire, food and shelter than defense, and they had ridden into the clever ambush as lambs to the slaughter. 

Knocked from his mount by the sudden swarm of fell vermin, Elladan retreated to the very edge of the wood, forced to trust his back to the massive trunks rather than the keen of an elven blade. Sensing an advantage, the attackers surged toward the unseated elf, fleeing the mithril-shod hooves of the rampaging war-horses. 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Elrohir struggled toward his twin. The orcs multiplied as if by magic, each foul creature he dispatched replaced by two. Bile rose in his throat as his mount trampled yet another bloody carcass. His arrows spent, the elf-knight leaped to the ground, wielding his sword in manic desperation, hacking a path toward his embattled brother. 

He would be too late. The advancing orc was but a few steps from Elladan, moving with uncharacteristic stealth toward his vulnerable back. Already the monstrous arm was drawn back, the cruel curved blade poised for a decapitating swing. 

Elrohir howled in impotent fury as he hewed the axe-arm from the creature blocking his path, his second stroke opening the monster’s belly. He stared in horror as Elladan slipped in the black blood that covered the ground, the elder twin’s sword leaping from his slick hand to fall ringing on the tumbled boulders that marked the forest’s edge. “Sweet Elbereth, please... _’Dan! No...no...”_ Elrohir let go a keening wail of denial, unable to tear his eyes from the nightmare unfolding before him. 

Then he heard the sharp hiss of a bowstring, and two brown-fletched arrows appeared in the orc’s neck as if in answer to his prayer. There was a flash of green and gold, and the creature fell headless at his brother’s feet. A heartbeat later a small group of Silvan elves burst into view, bows singing. 

Stunned, Elladan looked into the blue-green eyes of his savior, who retrieved the dropped blade, presenting it with a cheeky grin. “Welcome to Mirkwood,” the golden-haired elf chuckled, then turned his attention to the battle at hand. 

Elrohir cleaved a path to his twin, sparing but a moment to brush Elladan’s arm before resuming his grim task, grateful for the familiar presence of his brother at his back. They would not be separated again. 

The Mirkwood elves had put away their bows, fighting instead with their traditional knives, carried in pairs and lethal whether thrown or wielded by hand. Elladan’s gaze strayed repeatedly to the elf who had come to his rescue, admiring the lithe yet strong form and the cool, graceful efficiency with which the wood-elf dealt out death to the besieging orcs. White knives flashed like starlight on water as he spun, his face set in fierce concentration, his hair now streaked dark with blood. 

The elf seemed strangely familiar, but realization danced just out of reach, both frustrating and intriguing Elladan. Surely he would remember one of such beauty and skill had they met before...and yet he somehow felt certain that he _did_ know... 

“Save your musings for your bedroll, tôren,” Elrohir barked sharply, skewering an orc that seemed intent on removing his brother’s sword arm. “We are engaged here, if the fact has slipped your mind.” 

“It has not,” Elladan retorted without rancor, kicking aside a beheaded body to hew the legs from beneath another. “Though the sport grows old.” 

“Then let us end it,” Elrohir growled, his eyes dark and flickering with the lust of battle. “Agreed?” 

“Aye,” Elladan breathed, and they threw themselves on the remaining orcs as one elf, slashing and hacking their way toward the scattered Silvan warriors. Seeing that the tide had turned against them, a group of orcs tried to flee toward the shelter of the mountains, their escape thwarted by the thud of elven arrows as the Mirkwood elves gave chase. 

Elladan gutted a final opponent with a triumphant cry and turned to find his brother similarly unencumbered. “It seems the game is over,” the elder twin said with a feral grin, wiping a splash of gore from his cheek. “And we...” 

A strangled gasp interrupted the jest and Elladan whirled toward the sound, his stomach lurching as he took in the scene. A lone orc had slipped from the cover of the trees. One monstrous hand clutched the throat of the golden-haired elf, pinning him against a massive trunk. The other was drawn back, the black blade already descending toward his victim’s chest. 

Instinct honed by centuries of questing came to Elladan’s aid. His mind was still weighing the options – to sever the knife hand, and risk the beast throttling the wood-elf, or behead the orc and risk the blade’s fall – as his sword sliced upwardly through the creature’s forearm and continued its arc, cleaving the loathsome head in twain. 

The Mirkwood elf rubbed his neck, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “We are even, then, Peredhel. What brings you back to the Wood? I have not...” 

“ _Legolas!_ ” A grateful cry cut through the words as members of the Silvan party returned. “Praise the Valar! “ the eldest warrior said with a heartfelt sigh. “When I saw that you were not with us, I feared...I feared...I am glad to see you whole, my lord.” 

“Whole and near unscathed,” the woodland prince answered, clasping his friend’s arm reassuringly. “Though things might have been quite different had Elladan not come to my rescue. It was a grace that I saved his hide earlier, hmm?” Turning twinkling eyes on the elder twin, Legolas was surprised to find him staring in amazement. 

“ _Legolas?_ Legolas Thranduilion?” 

The golden-haired elf snorted, his lips twitching in amusement. “You did not recognize me? I am deeply offended.” 

Elladan’s eyes raked over the smoothly muscled form and sharply angled face, comparing the skilled warrior before him to the slight, fragile- appearing youngling of memory. His battle-roused body tightening in approval, his glance lingered on sleekly muscled thighs and straining laces before meeting the darkened gaze. “You have grown, young one.” 

“I have, indeed,” Legolas agreed, his eyes roaming in blatant appraisal over Elladan’s body, then subjecting Elrohir to equal scrutiny. “In many ways. It would be a pleasure to renew our acquaintance.” 

“A great pleasure,” the elf-knight purred. “Shall we scout for stragglers?” 

Turning to his warriors, Legolas bade them start for the Halls. “You are in charge, captain,” he said, slapping the back of his second. “We will follow shortly. I would have a look around.” 

“But, my lord,” the appointed elf began, his eyes narrowed knowingly, “the vermin have retreated. And it is likely unwise...” 

“I will keep my own counsel, soldier,” Legolas snapped dismissively. “You have your orders.” 

“Very well,” his captain agreed, reluctantly turning to go. “We will await you in the first clearing.” 

The last of the warriors had scarce passed from view before Legolas found himself pinned against the selfsame tree, the elder twin’s hands burrowing in his tangled hair. “Are there likely to be stragglers?” Elladan asked hoarsely, his leg pressing between the prince’s thighs. 

“Nay,” Legolas rasped, shifting his hips forward, increasing the friction. “If there were, we would surely hear the horses.” 

“That is well,” Elladan growled, nipping sharply at one ear. “Because I intend to fuck you, princeling. Now.” 

One golden eyebrow arched in mock affront as Legolas caught Elladan’s single heavy braid, winding it around one hand. “Without so much as a kiss? I think not.” Without waiting for a reply, he tugged sharply on the ebony strands, pulling the elder twin into a fiery kiss. Tongues wrestled wetly for control, teeth nipping and clashing as though the battle still raged. 

Legolas wrenched away from the punishing kiss and slid one leg around Elladan’s thigh, his eyes fluttering closed as their swollen shafts rubbed together, still trapped beneath leather leggings. Meeting Elladan’s obsidian dark gaze, he lowered his leg and reached for the stretched lacings. “You made a promise, Peredhel. Keep it.” 

“With pleasure,” the elder twin rasped, stepping away from the tree as Legolas tugged open his own leggings, then turned and raised his arms to brace himself against the massive trunk. 

“And what would you have of me?” Elrohir murmured, slipping between the prince’s outstretched arms. “I am at your service. For the moment.” 

“Your mouth,” Legolas breathed, his words turning to a guttural moan as Elrohir’s hand closed around his throbbing cock. “Put your mouth on me.” 

The elf-knight dropped to his knees, jerking the scuffed leather leggings to the ground. Catching Legolas’ hips firmly he opened his mouth and engulfed the wood-elf in one smooth glide. A wordless howl ripped through the still air of the forest as the prince struggled against the restraining grip, desperate to push further in to the wet heat. His fingers curling into the rough bark, Legolas let his head fall forward and spread his legs further in eager invitation, straining against the leather leggings that were pooled around his ankles. 

Elladan watched in silence for a moment, one hand moving over his leaking arousal, spreading the slick fluid. Moving behind Legolas, he ran a hand lightly from nape to bottom, then quickly pressed two fingers inside in a cursory preparation. Positioning himself, he gripped the slim hips, covering Elrohir’s hands with his own. “Are you ready, princeling?” 

_“Do it,”_ Legolas spat out hoarsely, his legs trembling from both the strain of his position and the magic of the elf-knight’s mouth. A split second later he let go a sharp yelp, his teeth drawing blood from his own lower lip as his body was breached and filled with one powerful thrust. 

A deep growl sounded in Elladan’s chest as he stood motionless, fighting the urge to move until the near painful tightness eased. Pulling back, he slammed forward again, burying himself completely in the silken passage. Legolas answered with an eager moan, his body arching even in the elf- knight’s strong grip, and the last of Elladan’s control slipped away. Bracing himself against the tree with one hand, he twined the other in the fall of golden braids and began pounding savagely into the prince’s body. 

Legolas bucked wildly, caught between the swirling warmth of Elrohir’s skilled tongue and the pain-edged pleasure of the hard shaft moving inside him. “Gods, _yes_...” he gasped as the beginnings of a fierce climax coiled in his belly, “harder...unh...coming... _coming..._ ” 

Elrohir pulled away and quickly pinched the base of the Legolas' arousal, stemming the threatened orgasm. “Not yet, princeling,” the elf-knight chided, a wicked smile curling the corners of his mouth as he slowly stroked himself. “Not yet.” 

Elladan hissed as the already snug sheath tightened, the rippling muscles squeezing him almost painfully. Pushing aside the prince’s hair, he sank his teeth into the revealed neck and rammed home once more, letting go a hoarse groan as his release flooded the clenching passage. Elladan sagged against Legolas and lapped soothingly at the bite he had inflicted, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his climax. 

A moment later he was shoved unceremoniously aside as Elrohir took his place, pushing into the seed-slick channel with a feral growl. Wrapping one hand firmly around the prince’s arousal, he moved in slow, deep thrusts, matching each with a quick twist of his fist. “ _Now_ you may come,” he rasped, pulling Legolas’ head back to catch his mouth in a pillaging kiss. 

The prince shuddered as he spilled copiously over Elrohir’s hand, his knees so weak that he would have fallen had Elladan not thrown out a supporting arm. The hot rush of the elf-knight’s release set him trembling again, and Legolas clung gratefully to the elder twin, pulling him into a loose embrace as Elrohir withdrew carefully. 

A long silence followed, broken only by harsh breathing and the faint squeak and rub of leather on leather. Extricating himself from the cradle of the twins’ bodies, Legolas looked himself and his companions over soberly. Half-dressed, skin and clothing smeared with both blood and the leavings of their rutting, hair tangled and splattered with gore... 

“Are you well, princeling?” Elladan asked cautiously, suddenly aware anew of the woodland prince’s relative youth, and his own less than gentle approach. There was a moment of unease as all three tugged at stiff leggings and damp laces, then Legolas raised his head to meet the concerned grey gazes, a broad grin spreading across his face. “We are alive, are we not?” he replied, his eyes twinkling. “All of us.” 

 

*~*~*~*~*

 


End file.
